


Angry Hill

by rAdiantOrdam



Category: Uncharted (Video Games)
Genre: Blood, Gen, Guilt, Morality, Multi, Nightmares, Other, Regret, Self-Hatred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-08
Updated: 2016-11-08
Packaged: 2018-08-29 22:32:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8508052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rAdiantOrdam/pseuds/rAdiantOrdam
Summary: Rafe kills the Drakes and suffers for it. He tries to clue back the shattered glass without cutting himself.





	

Song of the lyrics: Angry Hill by George Ezra

————-

He should’ve been used to it by now.

It was that same nightmare. His mind replayed it repetitively. It was always the same ending of him statically jolting off the mattress in a sea of sweat.

_He reads yesterday’s news,_

Often, he would see Nathan, cutlass through his stomach that Rafe had placed with his own hands. Nathan’s brother, Sam, crying helplessly beside his corpse as he was also gunned down by Rafe’s own will of pulling the trigger.

_Cause today’s just scares him_

Sometimes, he saw a mirage of Nadine. Her trust evaporated off him, but it was too late to regain it. Her simple action of shutting the trap threw him into the pack of wildfires.

_Thinks of yesterday’s blues,_

In the end, Rafe was to blame. Sometimes, he dreamed of a young blonde woman, whom he suspected to be Nathan’s wife. She was alone, holding an infant.

_Cause today’s are just far too grim._

It was someone Rafe barely knew other than meeting on a few intense encounters on that island. Regardless, she was still tossed into the conflict. Sometimes, he would see Victor, that man who was simply referred to as “Sully” by the others. Sometimes he wondered if that man’s forgiveness ever had limits, if his kind nature would soon wear away at the death of this figure, ever closer to a son - a death Rafe had caused.

_And it grows,_

Other times, he would see himself, a younger counterpart, fifteen years prior. There was blood on his hands - as he should’ve been now, innocently demanding for an answer, for why his future was torn apart by agony.

_On it grows._

He didn’t know what his father would think if he were here, imagining the man’s ashamed and disappointed expression twisting on his face. But why should he care? 

_And I’m learning how to walk,_

Despite receiving company, Rafe would rather suffer alone than to confess and divide it.

_Learning how to take my time,_

In someways, it was easing know that mother was not here to have seen Rafe suffer under this situation.

_Or the angels take him away and,_

While it was lonely, was also a reassuring to be guarded in his own safe haven, living alone in his individual place.

_Lay his body six feet ‘neath clay,_

Rafe wouldn’t have to face that man, the man that he verbally considered as a father. He wouldn’t have to face his critical remarks on him, on how his existence was bare of accomplishments, yet Rafe had spent years solely aiming for it, only to result in this.

_And it grows,_

He wouldn’t have to be reminded of the cold and simple nature of reality, the many steps that he let maneuver him. 

_On it grows._

Even though he wanted to disguise the identity of the story, Rafe longed to spill his tale out.

_I’ll walk and then I’ll walk,_

But he still knew that there was no justification for not taking the final chance to reform alliance with the brothers.

Rafe knew well that there was nothing he could say to repair the damage he had washed upon on others.

_Lord, I’ll walk, I’ll walk and then I’ll walk._

For spewing nearly half of his life at it.

_Lord, I’ll walk, I’ll walk and then I’ll walk._

And mindlessly ending the lives of the Drakes. That one second; a small riptide, spreading the infection throughout all networks. 

_And I’ll walk, Lord, I’ll walk, Lord, I’ll walk,_

_And it grows, on it grows._

He thought he’d be satisfied.

_He’s as angry as the hills_

He thought that rummaging down the bricks to Avery’s treasure, and ending the legend of the great “Nathan Drake” would restore his purpose.

_He’s got a mind and eyes and both set to kill, oh._

Rafe found his efforts to be in vain. The conclusion that refuted his prediction. It was a prehistoric feeling, and it was the first time in years since Rafe had fully realized and felt it.

_Maybe that he may learn to walk,_

The treasure; the cause of this disaster. Rafe fought more than a decade for it, ultimately throwing his life into the process. What a shame. The entirety of it was right in front - around him.

_And maybe that he may learn to take his time,_

He used millions for it, he spent time for it, he killed for it, only to result in suffering for it.

_Maybe that I may learn to walk,_

Yet, out of all of steps he took to reach it, the only one he failed was the final one: to take it.

_Maybe that I may learn to turn my back once more…_

Perhaps refusing to take that final step was the first step to something else.

He couldn’t tell if he was hallucinating or if the scene was real in front of his own eyes, but it wasn’t his blood on his hands. He scratched at it, vigorously attempting to scrub it off. To his frustration, his movements grew more forceful and rapid. His hands, they became red; Rafe never noticed that the blood turned real.

**Author's Note:**

> First fic I wrote for the Uncharted series. Hope you enjoyed :)


End file.
